Chocolate Dipped Death (3 page)

Sighing with frustration, I hoisted the tray high and slowly descended the stairs, feeling for each step before trusting my weight since I couldn’t see around the mound of garbage and dirty dishes. I was so engrossed, I didn’t realize that I wasn’t alone until I reached ground level and a deep voice asked, “Need help?”

I let out a startled yelp and wheeled around to find a man standing in the shadows of the two refrigerators we keep in our candy kitchen. My heart slammed against my rib cage, and I croaked, “Who’s there?”

A figure wearing dark jeans and a black turtleneck sweater moved into the light, but when I saw the sheaf of honey-blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses, I laughed with relief. “You scared the daylights out of me, Marshall. What are you doing here?”

He closed the distance between us and took the tray out of my hands before I completely registered what he was doing. “Sorry. I was clearing the snow from my windshield when I saw Karen and Evie leaving. I thought I’d better come back and see if you needed help.” He ran a glance over the pile of dirty dishes and grinned at me. “Looks like I was right. You’ll be here all night if you have to clean up by yourself.”

His concern surprised me. Marshall and I might have been in the same class in school, but we’d never really been friends. He’d always been too bookish and quiet for me, and I’d probably been too much a tomboy for him. Until tonight, I’d seen him only a couple of times since my return to Paradise, and both times for only a few minutes. Never long enough to talk or get acquainted.

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I asked Karen to take Evie somewhere and calm her down.”

“She’s still upset about tonight’s results?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I moved past him to clear a spot for the tray among the boxes of toffee and stacks of saltwater taffy we’d made for the following night. “Evie’s absolutely convinced that Savannah cheated somehow.”

“Don’t let Evie make you paranoid,” Marshall said as he followed me across the kitchen. “She’s . . . different.”

“She’s also determined to challenge the decision you three reached tonight.”

“She’s desperate. We all know that. The only way she
won’t
challenge our decision is if we let her win.” Marshall wedged the tray onto the counter and gathered a handful of silverware from amid the trash. “I don’t care what she says, Abby, we weren’t wrong. I know she worked hard, but her entry wasn’t the best one out there tonight.”

For some reason, just hearing him say that made me feel a little better. “Do the other judges feel the same way?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure they do. You know what a stickler Beverly is, and Henry’s no pushover. He’s been judging this contest since the first year, and he’s furious with Evie for making such a stink. The only question is, what will it do to your contest if Savannah actually wins on Sunday night?”

The heater kicked on, and I savored the welcome rush of warm air on my feet. “What do you mean?”

“Just that Savannah Horne’s not the most popular person who ever lived in Paradise. If she wins, Evie won’t be the only person who’s upset.”

“If she’s the best, she deserves to win.”

“I’m not sure everyone else will see it that way.”

I inched closer to the heat vent and studied his expression carefully. “Are you suggesting that I fix the contest?”

Marshall shook his head. “Of course not. I just want to make sure you’re prepared, that’s all. You lived away for a long time, but memories last a long time around here. People can be slow to forgive—especially someone who shows no remorse.”

I squirted soap into the sink and turned on the hot water. “Savannah’s been gone as long as I have,” I reminded him. “People can’t be hanging on to memories that are
that
old.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Like I said, people can be slow to forgive. Savannah hurt a lot of people when we were kids.”

“She made some people angry,” I agreed, “but I don’t think she did anything
that
awful—unless you know something I don’t.”

Marshall’s lip curved as he stacked dishes next to the sink. “No. I didn’t really know her all that well back then. I’m just going by how people act when her name is mentioned. You saw how they were tonight. Karen. Rachel. Evie. I think her husband was the only friend she had in that entire room. If people think you’ve taken her side, it could cost you.” He planted both hands on the counter and sweetened his smile. “It’s just a friendly warning from one business owner to another, that’s all.”

I didn’t know how to take his “friendly” warning, so I laughed it off. “Well, I’m not going to panic yet. This was only the first night of judging. Everything could change tomorrow.”

Marshall leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “Maybe. But her entry tonight was surprisingly good. I don’t think any of us thought Savannah could cook like that. She didn’t seem all that interested in the domestic arts back in school.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “No, she didn’t. But she’s had plenty of time to learn. People
can
change, you know.”

Something hard and cold flickered in his eyes. “Not people like Savannah Vance.”

“Horne,” I corrected automatically. I shut off the water and plunged my hands into the warm suds. “You’re the second person tonight who’s said that. But why do you feel that way? I thought you didn’t know her.”

“I don’t, but I know of her.”

“So what makes Savannah different from the rest of the world?”

“Think about it, Abby. Why
should
she change? Her way of doing things has always worked pretty well for her. She’s always gotten everything she wants.” Marshall scratched at something on the countertop with his fingernail, then mopped it up with a damp rag. “She and Miles are obviously doing well. He was educated at Harvard, you know. And they’re moving to New York as soon as they leave here. He’s been offered a top position with a Fortune 500 company, so it’s not as if Savannah needs the cash.”

Judging from the little I’d seen of Miles Horne, that was no doubt true, but the conversation was starting to make me uneasy. “Just tell me one thing,” I said. “Do you think Evie was right? Do you think Savannah cheated?”

“Honestly?” Slow as molasses, Marshall shook his head. “I don’t know. Savannah’s always taken care of Savannah, that’s all I know. If she wants something, she’ll move heaven and earth to get it.”

“Yeah, but what could she possibly want
here
? A plaque with her name on it? A blue ribbon? A few hundred dollars in prize money? I can’t imagine she considers any of that worth her time.”

“Maybe she just wants another chance to show us all that she’s the best.”

“Maybe,” I agreed reluctantly. “But if that’s the case, I wish she’d find some other way to do it.” I was worried enough about keeping Divinity in the black.

Marshall tossed the cloth onto the counter and came to stand in front of me. “Just do yourself a favor, okay? Keep an eye on Savannah tomorrow. If she does have an ulterior motive, maybe you’ll be able to figure out what it is.”

I nodded and managed a thin smile. “Yeah. Sure. And thanks for the help. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. I was happy to do it.” He crossed to the door and let himself outside on a blast of cold winter air. I watched through the window until he disappeared around the corner, wondering why I’d never gotten to know him before. Except for his life at the restaurant, I didn’t even know what he’d been doing since high school. Had he ever married? Did he have children? I really should know the answers.

He wasn’t the only person I’d lost touch with over the years. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d come back to Paradise during my marriage to Roger. He hadn’t wanted me tied to my past, and I’d given in without argument. I could justify my actions a dozen different ways, but the truth is, I’d let him dominate me. It’s not a mistake I’ll make again.

Every one of my relationships had suffered during my absence. My nieces and nephews barely knew me, old friends had grown distant, and cousins who’d once been as close as siblings had trouble trusting me.

I guess that was only fair. Sometimes I had trouble trusting myself.

 

The third-floor apartment I call home is not a large space, nor is it particularly beautiful. It’s decorated with a jumble of furniture handed down from various relatives and mingled together in no particular style. Some—my ex-husband, for example—might even say the apartment is ugly, but it suits me just fine.

I’m not going to lie to you, though. It’s a whole lot worse since my roommate moved in. I’m never sure what I’ll find when I open the door. That night I found half a roll of shredded toilet paper, one bra, an apple core, a half-eaten giant jawbreaker stuck to the welcome mat, and the toilet brush on the kitchen floor. In the living room, I found three empty toilet paper rolls (ends chewed), the splintered remains of a basket, three paperbacks (corners chewed), stuffing from some unidentifiable source, and one rawhide bone—untouched.

One of these days, when I find a little spare time, I really have to take Max in for obedience training. He hadn’t been nearly so destructive when he was living and working with his former owner, but Brandon had taken Max to work with him every day at his clothing store. It’s a little harder to do that when you work in the food industry. Health inspectors tend to frown on having dogs and their fur in the kitchen.

The jingle of dog tags warned me to brace myself as Max loped out of the bedroom and launched himself at me. At least the deep depression he’d suffered right after Brandon’s death was a thing of the past. He’s always happy to see me when I come home and reasonably well-behaved when I’m around, so I hold out hope that the rest will come.

I spent a few minutes scratching Max and assuring him that he’s the best dog in the world, listening to my messages, and changing out of the clothes I’d been wearing all day. Finally comfortable in jeans and my favorite old sweater, I stuffed my feet into boots, slipped into my coat, and clipped Max’s leash to his collar.

Grabbing keys and wallet, I led Max down my new stairs and said a silent thank-you to my brother Wyatt for helping me restore them. Getting in and out of the apartment from outside was no problem in good weather, but sprinkle two feet of snow on the stairs, and it’s a different story.

Max got to work almost as soon as we stepped outside, sniffing for just the right place to relieve himself, and dragging me along the ice-covered sidewalks with him. Soft white clouds enveloped his head as warm, moist breath mingled with the cold air. Shivering, I said a silent prayer that this wouldn’t be one of those nights where he couldn’t settle on a spot. “All right, boy,” I urged between chattering teeth, “Let’s get busy. There’s leftover pizza waiting for me upstairs.”

He snuffled loudly, but he didn’t lift his nose from the sidewalk. I took that as a good sign, and followed him along the narrow parking strip that separates Divinity from Picture Perfect, our closest neighbor on the uphill side of the street.

The lights were still on, and the urge to talk with Dooley Jorgensen about that night’s fiasco tugged at me almost as hard as Max was pulling on his leash. Dooley had been a great friend to Aunt Grace, and he’d taken me under his wing now that she was gone. Whenever I needed someone to listen, Dooley was there. No matter what the problem, he either commiserated or helped me figure out a solution. Usually both.

But Max needed attention first, so I huddled deeper into my coat and followed the dog to the front of the store. Parked cars and SUVs, most of which sported ski racks, lined both sides of the street. Crowds of people strolled along the ice-crusted sidewalks on their way to or from dinner or drinks, and a steady stream of drivers hoping to find a parking space inched through town going uphill.

Prospector is a two-way street until the snow flies. Then it, like most of the other streets in the narrow part of the valley, change to one-way traffic to accommodate the snow left behind by the plows. That doesn’t slow us down at all.

This is one of the things I love about Paradise. It’s a small town by almost anyone’s standards, but we get enough tourist traffic to keep things from getting boring. There are plenty of old friends to provide roots, but always an opportunity to meet someone new. And there’s rarely a time, day or night, when you can walk outside in Paradise and feel alone.

Now that I was out and surrounded by the rich scents of meals being prepared in nearby restaurants, leftover pizza didn’t sound nearly so appealing. I’d much rather have a steaming plate of Romano’s penne pasta with pine nuts and sun dried tomatoes, or even better, steak with sauce Bordelaise from Gigi.

My mouth was watering as I followed Max around an amorous couple who looked as if they’d just left the ski slopes. I started past another, huddled deep in conversation within the recessed doorway of Rachel Summers’s candle shop, but something caught Max’s attention, and he ground to a halt.

One of the best things about Paradise is the way everyone watches out for everyone else, so it was pure instinct that made me give the couple a quick once-over to make sure they weren’t trying to break in. They seemed innocent enough, probably just taking refuge from the cold. I started to turn away, but a stray bit of conversation blew across the sidewalk on a gust of wind.

“I don’t care
what
you do, Miles. Don’t you understand that? Now that I know—” Either she stopped speaking, or she lowered her voice so I couldn’t hear, but I recognized Savannah immediately. I was still standing there, gawping, when she pushed away from him and snapped, “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Curiosity went to war with discretion—and won. At least until I remembered how I’d felt when someone witnessed one of my arguments with Roger. Feeling like a voyeur, I tugged on Max’s leash and headed downhill again, but I only made it a few feet before Savannah called after me.